11-28-2016, 09:40 PM
Lids fall over the mercury tinted eyes as he watches her quietly. A scrutinizing eye catches the way her attention wisps casually away towards the direction he motions. She is fleeting like a dandelion seedling on the spring air, whimsical and lacking discretion where she may lay. Lobes remain toward the smaller woman as his expression does not shift from the wall that is built brick by brick from years of practice to keep the vulnerable parts in and the rest of the world out.
Lior, above all else, is at least polite. He listens to the name of her home, a brief description in flat tones and an even flatter expression. Lior wonders what sand and ocean must be like. He has heard of beaches but had never set foot upon sand...never tasted salt upon his tongue. He isn't entirely sure if he really wants to either judging by the painted woman's description and lack of enthusiasm.
The dark stallion witnesses the way warm air coils from the mare's nostrils like a sleeping dragon. He slowly draws and releases his own air without such effort. He can tell by her question that she wishes to change the subject and inquires as to if the mountain had robbed him of anything. Now it is his turn to sigh.
"No, it was not the mountain who stole from me." Lior instantly wishes he had not said that.
Lior cared to not speak of what was stolen from him or in which the way it was taken. "There was a time I was able to be whomever or whatever I wanted but no longer. Now I am the man who stands before you. Plain and simple." Why did he continue to speak? Lior silently sews the tears in his soul with thick and ugly black cord. He returns to the onyx statue and silently berates himself for his folly. "Perhaps...one day...I should like to see your Nerine." Like rocks crushing under foot, the rough tones of his voice vibrate from the depths of his chest as his gaze returns to Nayl in his best attempt to keep the conversation alive for the sake of sharing words with another living creature.
Lior, above all else, is at least polite. He listens to the name of her home, a brief description in flat tones and an even flatter expression. Lior wonders what sand and ocean must be like. He has heard of beaches but had never set foot upon sand...never tasted salt upon his tongue. He isn't entirely sure if he really wants to either judging by the painted woman's description and lack of enthusiasm.
The dark stallion witnesses the way warm air coils from the mare's nostrils like a sleeping dragon. He slowly draws and releases his own air without such effort. He can tell by her question that she wishes to change the subject and inquires as to if the mountain had robbed him of anything. Now it is his turn to sigh.
"No, it was not the mountain who stole from me." Lior instantly wishes he had not said that.
Lior cared to not speak of what was stolen from him or in which the way it was taken. "There was a time I was able to be whomever or whatever I wanted but no longer. Now I am the man who stands before you. Plain and simple." Why did he continue to speak? Lior silently sews the tears in his soul with thick and ugly black cord. He returns to the onyx statue and silently berates himself for his folly. "Perhaps...one day...I should like to see your Nerine." Like rocks crushing under foot, the rough tones of his voice vibrate from the depths of his chest as his gaze returns to Nayl in his best attempt to keep the conversation alive for the sake of sharing words with another living creature.